January, 2016

Had I known micro-trips is to be the running theme of January, I’d have at least nabbed some tiny stocking-filler toothbrush & toothpaste sets and kept some advent calendar chocolate aside over the holidays. The thing about these overnight stints is that it puts you in somewhat of grey area of ‘purposelessness’, because you decide it is too short of a trip to take your usual ‘purposefulness’ kit which helps you be productive, if not be entertained. So you end up sitting in that window-seat like a potato, thinking of potato things.

One thing I did notice: shorter the trips, smaller the carry-on handbag. Passports come out their elaborate, monogrammed, multi-pocketed travel wallets and into a coat pocket; same with ticket stubs and any other paperly goods – dog-eared and unidentifiable by the tenth time Ryanair checks that you are indeed you. Cue the Saddle Bag, key player for Coach Spring16 collection and a nod to the classic design from the archives, just in time for the brand’s 75th anniversary. The smaller size (Saddle 23 – £325) got me through a 22h stint in Florence just last week: big enough to scrunch in a silk blouse I scored at a vintage shop off the beaten track, and perfectly concise enough to enjoy a brief-but-glorious moment in the Italian sun.

Black Vase – West Elm.

art direction & photography SHINI PARK in collaboration with YOUR MUM

What I’m doing in this flat is quite possibly in violation of some renters’ law: the comprehensive yet unspoken/unwritten set of rules that is policed by no one but adhered to by everyone who is under a tenancy agreement of sorts. You homeowners can go outside and play, this post does not apply to you… superior humans.
Picture frames all aligned at the same base-line (the floor), make-shift storage space under the stairs/behind the IKEA EKBY, free-standing clothes-hangers that buckle under sale purchases… yeah, you know exactly what I’m talking about. We do not invest in big furniture, and when we do it’s made of cardboard (or breadcrumbs?), comes flat-packed and you probably transported it home in a bus yourself. Built-in storage is literally my wet dream. Maybe not literally.

Also, what is a drill, pray tell?

If it helps to further understand, these laws are accompanied by an Amazon recommended-product list full of sticker-back wall hooks and cheap draught prevention kits BECAUSE YOUR LANDLADY DOESN’T BELIEVE IN CURTAINS, so you spend the balls-cold weekend sealing off the windows with a combination of bargain-store fabric and clear plastic, and hope for the best. Doesn’t hide the fact that now your overpriced London flat looks like a blanket fort that Troy & Abed would approve of.

So me taking a measuring tape to the walls, is in clear violation of the above. A MEASURING TAPE, you guys. Then proceeding to ordering furniture that perfectly slide into the little indent in the wall next to the fireplace. We’ve even bought a drill, and have plans of making fist-sized holes into the walls come weekend; you know, for fun. My logic is this: Live a little. Why pay such a ridiculous amount to live in a relatively attractive, albeit ill-heated space and then further offend it by not making it a home? Because stupid, that’s what. Rant over. Here are some corners I’ve been refreshing in the last couple of weeks between the bliss that was my horizontal-and-TV adventures.

Dear readers, there are just some things you should never trust me with: the last slice of pizza, your mum, and New Year’s resolutions. In fact, you should not trust me with most things under the sun, but those, in particular, you should be wary of. Granted, none of the above three affect you literally – unless your mum is Jennifer Lawrence then GO TO YOUR ROOM I GOT THIS, but given my penchant to promise you withhold certain information that quite positively can lead to your actual general wellbeing (let’s be honest, how many things off the internet can you apply this to?), you should check up with me at least once if not 364 more times in a given year. For instance, promises to share how I kicked my eczema’s ass, or sharing a bit of know-how in terms of graphic design, as according to this ruddy account. Nobody cares whether I post Part II of a press-trip from 2012 – that I know for a fact.

As always my excuse is: my dog ate my homework, and I got busy; check my Snapchat (Sparkncube) for proof. On the other hand, don’t check Snapchat. Between Simon and me dancing in the office like a pair of lunatics, I’ve just realised that the rest are of me making jell-o and jiggling it (if my life were a movie I’d like Nicholas Cage to play me). I get it, this freshly-turned teen/neglectful parent excuse is getting old, and I do apologise. Said she, barely looking up from her laptop. This year my only three resolutions are these: 1) Get fat 2) Start drinking like a Polish farmer, and 3) start sending family daily hate-mail. By mid-January I’ll do the usual annual thing of forgetting all about it and revert to doing the complete opposite, at least with adequate effort this time.

Hope you had a successful first ten days of the New Year, and while I intend to deliver (at least partially) on last year’s promises within the next few years weeks – if your questions are urgent always feel free to shine a poop emoji into the sky and I’ll fly to your aid, Febreeze in one hand, a plunger in another. In all seriousness, some of you have e-mailed about eczema and I am more than happy to help. Welcome, to another year of shenanigans and illustrated rants.